Going nowhere. Doing nothing.
When the going gets weird, the weird move to Beeston.
Just a rambling account of last Thursday at the Northern Art Prize. I'm really the most hopeless, helpless, hapless reviewer in the world as I really only ever talk about one thing. Well, two things if you count the other thing I talk about.
| Phil |
Ah! I think I get it now. A play about making another play, a play that sounds pretty horrific. Four actors. Tim, the writer and director, who seems to have some strange ideas about art and society. Vic, who plays . . .
IF
Excuse me! Strange ideas? I haven’t heard any strange ideas . . . don’t know what he’s up to mind you. Why’s he naked? Why’s he crying? And what’s all the talk about blood? He seems a bit obsessed.
Phil
He’s not really naked, is he. Just talking about it, simply telling us a story. I’m sure it’ll be clear in the end.
And the strange ideas? Something about society being defined by its edges and art operating at the extremes. Maybe its just his character talking, Tim Crouch pretending to be Tim Crouch? Doesn’t matter.
Anyway, the other actors. Vic, who plays mild mannered, middle class nice guy who gets to play the villain in the other play. Esther, lovely but lightweight and a little self-absorbed, who plays the very young victim in the other play
.
IF
She’s just sung a song. Did you recognise it?
Wonder what would have happened if people had said no, don’t sing. I suppose the exit strategy is the main way an audience influences what’s going on. The audience is hardly a collective entity. Just a bunch of like minded individuals going along for the ride. If the don’t like where its going they can always leave.
But we’ll never alter the destination.
Phil
Thank you for that insight, very profound. May I move on?
Chris, the actor who spoke first, plays a member of the audience. In both plays. One of us. And one of them.
A “delicate flower” who admits he delights in all the bombings, blood, beheadings and buggery . . . if it helps to secure the future of new writing.
Space.
IF
The play's about images then? How we deal with the horrors of the world. How we represent the horror without becoming the horror.
Phil
Something like that I think.
Vic becomes the monster he plays, re-enacts the violence he’s absorbed, even though “we all know he’s not like that.”
IF
He keeps saying he’s not the person he used to be. Somehow he’s been taken over by the character he’s playing.
Is that possible? It’s just acting? He’s just said he once came into the theatre “as” his character and smashed a table up. Scared the hell out of the stage manager. That’s not acting. That’s being a dickhead.
Phil
Yes, yes! Like Tim just said, the point is to represent the horror, not live it
.
IF
But does seem like the whole play is pointing towards some contamination theory. The images they talk about get more and more violent . . . Esther just said something about Vic tearing out her womb. That sort of stuff must send you a bit crackers.
Even though it’s not meant to be taken literally. Nobody is thinking allegorically when there’s a bag of raw liver dripping down between your legs. The poetics of the piece must get a bit lost.
Oh look, Chris is handing out chocolates. Maltesers.
Shall I grab us some? I know you’ll not reach over. Too scared he’ll ask you to say something.
Wonder what would happen if he offered Rolo’s instead.
Space
Phil
Hell. That was a bit intense.
IF
Wasn’t expecting that.
Were you?
Phil
Err . . . no.
Well, I kinda guessed something bad was gonna happen to Chris. But not quite that harsh.
Did it feel like some sort of karmic comeuppance? Chris always said the theatre was safe. Okay to indulge in gore and gruesomeness because it’s just pretend. Was that the return of the repressed, the visceral back with a vengeance?
IF
Maybe the point was that theatre is built on horror stories. Paying your fiver, becoming a friend of the theatre, handing out chocolates to fellow audience members doesn’t make the reality any more palatable.
Nowhere is safe.
Tim though. Shocking
.
Phil
Yes, shocking. But cleverly constructed.
It became shatteringly clear why the only actual representation shown in the whole play and not just talked about was the eight month old baby, Finn.
As he says, nobody was hurt. Nobody would have remembered. Nobody would have noticed . . . but still, after all that talk of blood and gore and inhuman horror, he still managed to present a situation that was completely abhorrent and unforgivable.
IF
I couldn’t have said those words.
Even acting. I couldn’t
.
Phil
No, me neither.
Blood and guts and bum sex I can handle, but I found that hard to listen to.
I was impressed with the way it was written though. Almost as if he were watching himself abstractly, from a distance, through a lens. His crime is represented as just happening, as if it was just one of the images he’s been researching.
He has the choice to continue. He has the choice to stop.
But either choice is represented as a click. Remote. Removed. Just like switching on a porn channel.
IF
He only gets away with saying it because we all know he hasn’t done it.
He’s just pretending.
Phil
Pretending, of course. There’d be the police and a whole section of social workers waiting outside if anyone were dense enough to believe what he just said.
That’s the point, maybe. Theatre is a way of talking about reality, not reality itself. When we let that distinction blur we become like Vic. As bad as reality.
IF
Well, it’s certainly left me wondering what the heck to think. And that’s good, isn’t it?
Time to stop pretending. Don’t you want to go to the pub?
Phil
What a great idea . . . time to stop pretending.
At the edge of the furthest row in an audience facing an audience in two banks of seats.
No way of taking notes.
An uneasy, watchful presence.
No sense of what I’m going to write about yet every sense that I have promised a review.
There is freedom to improvise and make things up if I cannot think of anything sensible to say.
| Imaginary Friend | So, that guy who’s just started talking, he’s one of them . . . one of the actors?
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| Phil | Assume so. Nobody just talks out loud like that. Must be one of them . . . an actor I mean. He’s started things off anyhow. That’s what actors do in a play, start things off. Keep things moving. Anyway, hush . . . it’s started . . . something’s happening . . . someone’s talking . . .
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| Space.
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| IF | I can only see the back of his head. He’s got a nice haircut, hasn’t he! Well, I can only see one half of it, but . . . must be awkward with half the audience behind him. To act, I mean. Has to keep twisting around.
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| Phil | Technically he’s on the last row but one, so that means only twenty percent of the audience are behind him . . . or something like that. Haven’t brought my bloody calculator! This is meant to be a play, just go along with it . . . why do you even need to see his face anyway? He’s only talking . . . you can hear what he says perfectly well. Listen.
Something about the space, being versatile and that . . . and us all being beautiful . . . can’t say I’m feeling too gorgeous with those spotlights bouncing off my baldy head. Can we see if we can shuffle our chairs to a shadier bit? Feeling a bit exposed.
No? Seems we’re stuck.
|
| IF | Now he’s talking to the audience. At least, I think they are the audience. How many actors, do you know?
One guy, that guy at the front, didn’t quite catch his name, says he’s doing “English and drama” . . . same as the girl behind, “English and drama . . .”
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| Space. |
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| IF | ‘appen they should have got one of them clever kids from English and Drama to do the review? Someone who knows what they are talking about. Someone who went to the symposium today.
Maybe?
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| Phil | Hmm, perhaps. S’pose I could have been better prepared.
But no though . . . isn’t it more interesting when you’re not quite sure what you’re letting yourself in for? I didn’t want to have it all explained away, deconstructed and annotated before I’d even seen the thing. I want a bit magic and mystery left. Like the guy, the actor Chris just said, I’m expectant, hopeful, wanting something to happen . . . and anyway, what kind of sad bugger spends Saturday in a University symposium!
What’s he just said? I missed that. What are we being invited to agree about?
Hope? Hoping for someone to talk to us?
|
| IF | Watch out, he’s trying to make eye contact.
I think he wants to talk to you.
Pretend you’ve got a very important button to unfasten or some chewing gum on the sole of your shoe that demands urgent investigation. Just don’t let him embarrass you by making you “interact.” You know you don’t do interaction all that well.
Remember what happened last time you were made to interact.
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| Phil | Crikey, that was close!
Almost caught out. Attention slipped. Trying to work out who the other actors could be.
Public confessional isn’t really my idea of entertainment. Best leaving the interaction to the English and Drama types. That’s what they go to college for. Interaction! It’s a skill, that is.
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| IF | Look, someone’s just walked out . . .
Something happened? What did I miss?
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| Phil | Was it one of the actors? Heard that people have walked out of the play before . . . think they are okay with that. The actors I mean.
They don’t take it too seriously. Don’t take the criticism to heart.
Some people have some funny ideas. This is just pretend. How can just pretend offend anyone?
|
| IF | They are asking us to “say something.” What’s to say so far?
Do you think anyone will?
I know you won’t, that’s a given. You’ll just keep it all in your head till you get home in front of a keyboard . . . then you’ll let ‘em know. Will anyone else speak up I wonder, right here, right now . . .
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| Phil | Well, the world is full of cocky folk who are desperate to steal a bit of the limelight, so who knows.
Would be fun.
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| Space. |
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| Phil | I’m on my own here. Sat on the very back row in the remotest corner, on my own. With just an imaginary friend. Who may or may not exist.
Imaginary friends do not need a ticket. Cheap date!
This is a bit odd. Lights have dimmed, music started. Everyone is talking. Everyone is talking to the person they came with. They know the cue to interact. This is like an interval. I’m fiddling with my phone.
Tweeting is slightly less embarrassing than talking to the invisible friend. Isn’t it?
Getting some less than chuffed looks. The girl in front, perhaps an usher, asks me if I’m enjoying it. Feels a little inquisitorial. I have a strong urge to explain my behaviour and I tell her I came here with Robert who hadn’t booked a ticket . . . he’s up there, in the gallery somewhere, tweeting me . . . just because he isn’t sat next to me doesn’t mean we are not here together. It just looks that way.
I apologise for myself.
It’s not like I’m tweeting during the performance.
Is it?
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| IF | Put the phone away. It’s Tim Crouch, the writer. He’s talking . . . this is important.
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| Phil | Okay . . . hush, let me concentrate.
I need to concentrate on what he’s saying. What’s he saying? I’ll never remember.
I’m meant to be writing a review . . .
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| IF | . . . and they are meant to be performing a play!
No stage, no movement, no costumes . . . even you’ve come better dressed!
It’s a funny old world.
|
| Space. |
|
|
|
At the edge of the furthest row in an audience facing an audience in two banks of seats.
No way of taking notes.
An uneasy, watchful presence.
No sense of what I’m going to write about yet every sense that I have promised a review.
There is freedom to improvise and make things up if I cannot think of anything sensible to say.
| Imaginary Friend | So, that guy who’s just started talking, he’s one of them . . . one of the actors?
|
| Phil | Assume so. Nobody just talks out loud like that. Must be one of them . . . an actor I mean. He’s started things off anyhow. That’s what actors do in a play, start things off. Keep things moving. Anyway, hush . . . it’s started . . . something’s happening . . . someone’s talking . . .
|
| Space.
|
|
|
|
|
| IF | I can only see the back of his head. He’s got a nice haircut, hasn’t he! Well, I can only see one half of it, but . . . must be awkward with half the audience behind him. To act, I mean. Has to keep twisting around.
|
| Phil | Technically he’s on the last row but one, so that means only twenty percent of the audience are behind him . . . or something like that. Haven’t brought my bloody calculator! This is meant to be a play, just go along with it . . . why do you even need to see his face anyway? He’s only talking . . . you can hear what he says perfectly well. Listen.
Something about the space, being versatile and that . . . and us all being beautiful . . . can’t say I’m feeling too gorgeous with those spotlights bouncing off my baldy head. Can we see if we can shuffle our chairs to a shadier bit? Feeling a bit exposed.
No? Seems we’re stuck.
|
| IF | Now he’s talking to the audience. At least, I think they are the audience. How many actors, do you know?
One guy, that guy at the front, didn’t quite catch his name, says he’s doing “English and drama” . . . same as the girl behind, “English and drama . . .”
|
| Space. |
|
|
|
|
| IF | ‘appen they should have got one of them clever kids from English and Drama to do the review? Someone who knows what they are talking about. Someone who went to the symposium today.
Maybe?
|
| Phil | Hmm, perhaps. S’pose I could have been better prepared.
But no though . . . isn’t it more interesting when you’re not quite sure what you’re letting yourself in for? I didn’t want to have it all explained away, deconstructed and annotated before I’d even seen the thing. I want a bit magic and mystery left. Like the guy, the actor Chris just said, I’m expectant, hopeful, wanting something to happen . . . and anyway, what kind of sad bugger spends Saturday in a University symposium!
What’s he just said? I missed that. What are we being invited to agree about?
Hope? Hoping for someone to talk to us?
|
| IF | Watch out, he’s trying to make eye contact.
I think he wants to talk to you.
Pretend you’ve got a very important button to unfasten or some chewing gum on the sole of your shoe that demands urgent investigation. Just don’t let him embarrass you by making you “interact.” You know you don’t do interaction all that well.
Remember what happened last time you were made to interact.
|
| Phil | Crikey, that was close!
Almost caught out. Attention slipped. Trying to work out who the other actors could be.
Public confessional isn’t really my idea of entertainment. Best leaving the interaction to the English and Drama types. That’s what they go to college for. Interaction! It’s a skill, that is.
|
| IF | Look, someone’s just walked out . . .
Something happened? What did I miss?
|
| Phil | Was it one of the actors? Heard that people have walked out of the play before . . . think they are okay with that. The actors I mean.
They don’t take it too seriously. Don’t take the criticism to heart.
Some people have some funny ideas. This is just pretend. How can just pretend offend anyone?
|
| IF | They are asking us to “say something.” What’s to say so far?
Do you think anyone will?
I know you won’t, that’s a given. You’ll just keep it all in your head till you get home in front of a keyboard . . . then you’ll let ‘em know. Will anyone else speak up I wonder, right here, right now . . .
|
| Phil | Well, the world is full of cocky folk who are desperate to steal a bit of the limelight, so who knows.
Would be fun.
|
| Space. |
|
|
|
|
| Phil | I’m on my own here. Sat on the very back row in the remotest corner, on my own. With just an imaginary friend. Who may or may not exist.
Imaginary friends do not need a ticket. Cheap date!
This is a bit odd. Lights have dimmed, music started. Everyone is talking. Everyone is talking to the person they came with. They know the cue to interact. This is like an interval. I’m fiddling with my phone.
Tweeting is slightly less embarrassing than talking to the invisible friend. Isn’t it?
Getting some less than chuffed looks. The girl in front, perhaps an usher, asks me if I’m enjoying it. Feels a little inquisitorial. I have a strong urge to explain my behaviour and I tell her I came here with Robert who hadn’t booked a ticket . . . he’s up there, in the gallery somewhere, tweeting me . . . just because he isn’t sat next to me doesn’t mean we are not here together. It just looks that way.
I apologise for myself.
It’s not like I’m tweeting during the performance.
Is it?
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| IF | Put the phone away. It’s Tim Crouch, the writer. He’s talking . . . this is important.
|
| Phil | Okay . . . hush, let me concentrate.
I need to concentrate on what he’s saying. What’s he saying? I’ll never remember.
I’m meant to be writing a review . . .
|
| IF | . . . and they are meant to be performing a play!
No stage, no movement, no costumes . . . even you’ve come better dressed!
It’s a funny old world.
|
| Space. |
|
|
|
|
| Phil | Ah! I think I get it now. A play about making another play, a play that sounds pretty horrific. Four actors. Tim, the writer and director, who seems to have some strange ideas about art and society. Vic, who plays . . .
|
| IF |
Going nowhere. Doing nothing.
Going nowhere. Doing nothing.
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